


Attached

by elliex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mark of Cain, S10 (sort of), Unattached Drifter Christmas, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:14:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliex/pseuds/elliex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Unattached Drifter Christmas, but Dean's looking at the holiday differently these days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attached

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is written with Season 10 in mind and takes liberties with the spoilers regarding 10x14, "The Executioner's Song."
> 
> If you read, I hope you'll enjoy - Happy Valentine's Day! #ProfoundLove

+

They decide to meet up with Cas on the outskirts of Decatur. It’s a couple hours out of their way, and Dean waits for Sam to point out that they’ve talked to Cas on the phone three times that day, that they’re closing in on Cain and can’t spare the time. 

Instead, Sam says nothing, and Dean is grateful. 

The diner is small and Dean grimaces at its garish decorations – ugly cupids and bright red hearts. Cas has already claimed a corner booth, and Sam slides in next to him, leaving Dean to sit alone. They exchange small talk – the weather, the driving conditions – and the waiter takes their orders. 

After he leaves, they immediately get to work. Or, rather, Sam and Cas get to work, while Dean pretends that all of this isn’t for his sake. Sam pulls out his laptop and shows Cas the latest research he’s gathered about Cain’s possible targets. The two share notes and hypotheses, though Dean notices the tightness around Cas’s eyes and knows his friend is holding something back. 

Dean doesn’t call Cas on it, doesn’t demand answers. He chooses to focus on his food, the juiciness of his medium-well burger, the melting cheese, crunchy bacon, crisp lettuce, and fresh bread. He mindfully tastes every bite, ignoring the pulsing Mark on his arm, the hammering of his heart. 

The waiter drops the check at Dean’s elbow, interrupting his food reverie. Dean hastily finishes off his burger and fries, noting that Sam and Cas have barely touched their food. Their voices are quieter now, their brows furrowed.

Dean refuses to acknowledge the fear he carries, the way it flares up when he considers what he might lose. He finishes his soda and mutters, “Be right back,” striding to the counter without looking back and paying the bill. The waiter, a kid who can’t be over 23, gives him the once-over, and Dean delivers his trademark wink as he writes in a twenty-five percent tip. He pretends not to see the kid’s pinking cheeks as the receipt prints, pretends not to notice something being shakily written across the back. Dean wordlessly takes the receipt, folding it into a tiny square as he walks back their booth.

He leans against the booth’s edge instead of taking his seat, and he watches his brother and his angel talking seriously. Their determination floors Dean. He knows what they’re trying to do, but he doesn’t know how they’ll succeed. The fever in his arm chooses that moment to spike, and he can’t remember if he wants them to succeed or not. 

As if on cue, Cas meets his gaze, blue eyes wide and questioning. Calm envelops Dean; the fever abates. He nods and gives Cas a small smile, getting one in return. 

When the waiter – no longer enamored by the large tip and Dean’s wink – unapologetically jostles his elbow while retrieving the empty plates, Dean realizes that he’s been staring at Cas the entire time. He swallows a laugh. No wonder the waiter’s pissed. 

Dean skips the paper square across the table and raps the Formica with his knuckles. “Let’s get a beer,” he announces. 

Sam and Cas halt their conversation and stare up at him. “C’mon,” Dean says. “It’s a holiday and all. We’ve earned it.” 

Sam nods. “Okay, Dean,” he agrees, packing his bag and exchanging a look with Cas. 

+

Half an hour later, they’re settled at the bar in a western-themed joint. Before the bartender can even take their order, a tall blonde named Beth zeroes in on Sam and after a couple of beers and a lot of laughing, she has him out on the dance floor. 

Dean and Cas spin their stools around and lean back against the bar to watch the spectacle of Sam learning to two-step. Dean elbows Cas when the impromptu couple begins a slow dance that’s quickly accompanied by whispers and blushes. 

“I think Sammy’s gonna get lucky,” Dean observes. Cas’s brow furrows – despite his pop culture download, he still doesn’t get some things. Dean smiles at the familiar expression and takes another swig of his beer. 

Dean grins widely when Sam makes his way back over to them. “Shut up, Dean,” is the first thing Sam says. Dean quirks an eyebrow, provoking one of his brother’s infamous bitch faces and a stammered, “I –uh – yeah. I’m – uh – gonna go. Happy Unattached Drifter Christmas!” before he beats a hasty retreat. 

Dean shakes his head fondly, watching as Sam meets Beth by the door and slips an arm around her waist. The blonde smiles at Sam like he’s hung the moon, and Sam looks back as they leave, sending his brother a small salute that Dean returns. 

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“I forgot.”

Dean turns towards his friend. “Forgot what?”

“That it’s your Unattached Drifter Christmas holiday.” Dean watches Castiel’s long fingers knead the fabric of his tan coat. “I should – I should go so that you can celebrate.” 

Dean can’t breathe. Somehow, he manages the words, “Or you can stay and celebrate too.”

He watches Castiel glance around the room, watches the column of his throat as he swallows. Dean wonders if he’s wrong, if somehow –

But then Cas’s singular gaze lands on him, and Dean can breathe again.

With sudden confidence, Dean slides a little closer and bumps his shoulder to Cas’s. “You know, it’s not Unattached Drifter Christmas if you’re attached.”

Cas asks softly, “And are you…attached?”

They’re so close that Cas’s words ghost across his mouth. Dean starts to answer, then closes those few precious inches instead. Cas’s lips part under his, and Dean presses forward, tasting, exploring. 

He winds up standing, one of Cas’s legs between his, his arm around Cas’s waist, Cas’s hand palming the back of his head. It’s the most contact they’ve had in months, and it isn’t enough. Dean instinctively shifts closer. Cas groans into his mouth.

Something heavy slams down on the bar behind them, and the two jump apart. The bartender, glass pitcher of cock-blocking beer in hand, grins at them. “You two are the hottest thing I’ve seen all night, but we’ve got a strict no-sex-at-the-bar policy.” 

Dean smirks, ignoring the rising heat in his face. Usually, he’d make an inappropriate retort, but he looks at Cas and forgets everything. Cas’s lips are swollen, his hair mussed, his breath shaky – all because of _Dean_. 

“Want your tab?,” the bartender asks, smug grin still in place. 

“Uh, right,” Dean stammers out. He pulls out his wallet and yanks out two twenties, dropping them on the bar. “Keep the change.” He turns to Cas, “Let’s go.”

Dean doesn’t know who reaches for who, just that their fingers thread together, grounding him, giving him a sense of rightness he’d hasn’t felt in a long time. 

Outside, Cas presses him against the side of the Impala, bracketing Dean’s legs with his own. Sandwiched between the Impala’s cold metal and Cas’s lean, muscled form, Dean burns with want, with need. He holds onto Cas’s hips as warm hands slide under his layers, slip around his sides and splay across his back. Cas drags his lips across the hollow of Dean’s throat, nips at the soft skin under his jaw. Dean grips tighter and tilts his hips, rubbing his groin against Cas’s. Their panting and murmurs fill the night air, and Dean spares a thought of thanks that he parked in an alley because he isn’t stopping, _can’t_ stop, not until… 

Not _until_. When Cas’s hips stagger, the angel’s mouth fiercely claims his, and then Dean’s coming too. They hold onto one another with iron grips, shuddering until spent. Cas collapses against Dean, tucking his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. 

Dean gently presses a kiss to Cas’s temple and runs his fingers through the soft hair at the base of Cas’s skull. He feels Cas’s breath dancing across his skin, and Dean looks up at the stars, their brilliance diffused by his watery eyes. When he feels a trace of wetness on Cas’s cheek, Dean’s breath catches. He kisses Cas’s temple again. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“It will be,” Cas promises in turn, raising his head to look into Dean’s eyes. He cups Dean’s face, runs a thumb along his cheekbone. Dean bites back a sob. “It will be,” Cas says again, pressing his lips gently to Dean’s. 

Dean nods. “Motel?”

“I wish I could fly us there.” Dean sees a flash of sadness in Cas’s eyes. 

His hand still rests on the back of Cas’s neck, and he gently squeezes. “What? Baby’s not good enough for you?” His joking tone lifts the shadow slightly from his angel’s eyes. 

Castiel smiles. “Never,” he says.

Dean runs his fingers along Cas’s jaw and thinks of the peach fuzz the angel had sported in Purgatory. He opens the driver’s door and lets Cas slide in first. 

+

Between the bar and the alley and motel and the amazing sex, Dean forgets … until the memory resurfaces as he and Cas lay in yet another post-orgasmic haze. 

“Shit,” he mutters and gets out of bed, wincing when he moves too quickly. 

“Are you okay?,” Cas asks. He sits up and blinks blearily at Dean and – dammit – it’s _adorable_. 

“I’m great,” Dean answers with a smile, adding a strut to his walk despite the all-too-welcome twinge he’ll feel for the next few days.

Dean rummages through his duffel until he finds it. When he turns around, though, he clears his throat and clarifies gruffly, “I don’t do Valentine’s Day, okay?” 

“Yes, Dean, I am aware.” A smile tugs at Cas’s lips.

“Whatever,” Dean says, tossing a small box that Cas neatly catches. 

Cas eyes it dubiously. “What is it?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “A gift,” he explains. He lifts the covers and slides back in.

Cas side-eyes him but carefully unwraps the box, setting aside the silver paper as if it’s a precious object. He opens the box and freezes. 

Dean kisses his shoulder. “I’ll do anything to get your wings back – you know that – but… um…”

Cas pulls out the cufflinks – finely wrought silver wings – and swallows hard. “I – I love them,” he says. 

“You do?,” Dean asks, unable to repress the nervous waver in his voice. 

“I do,” Cas says firmly. He puts the cufflinks back in the box and gently sets it on the side-table. He cups Dean’s face. “They’re the only wings I need.”

“No, Cas,” Dean protests. “We’ll find your grace and fix things, I promise.” 

“You misunderstand me, Dean,” Cas corrects. “So long as I’m with you, things _are_ fixed.” 

Dean stares at him, unsure about what he’s hearing. Castiel shakes his head and deftly maneuvers Dean onto his back. Cas straddles him, gently rocking back and forth. Heat pools inside Dean’s core, and he reaches for Cas to draw him closer, to draw him in, but the angel shakes his head and pins Dean’s hands to the mattress. 

Cas rocks forward, “So long as I’m yours, Dean –” He kisses Dean’s breastbone, gently laving attention across the anti-possession tattoo and skimming nimble fingers up and down ribs. Dean shivers at the attention and at the murmured words. “– And you’re mine, my world is ‘fixed.’ Anything else?” Dean holds his breath as Cas stills his hips, straightens, and shrugs. “We’ll work it out; we always do.” 

When Cas takes hold of Dean’s right hand, caressing his way up to the Mark, Dean realizes he can barely hear the curse’s thrum. He wonders how long the reprieve will last. 

Dean gasps when Cas kisses the Mark. It’s as if an electric current shoots up his arm. “Like that?,” Cas asks, smiling before kissing it again. He takes Dean’s right hand, holding it securely in both of his. He brushes his lips across Dean’s knuckles.

“We’ll fix this,” Cas promises. “And then we’ll …” He trails off. 

“We’ll what?” Dean wants to know. What does Cas see for them? 

Cas shakes his head. “I know what I hope for. I’m afraid to say it aloud.”

Dean reaches for Cas, pulling him down and shifting them until they're on their sides, arms and legs tangled, foreheads together. Dean brushes an errant curl behind Cas’s ear. 

“Me too, Cas. Me too.” 

\+ + +


End file.
